What Are Friends For?
by dinabar
Summary: Post Death has no Dominion, Harry knows Nikki needs him, but will he pick up the phone?
1. Chapter 1

**So I know I'm slow; I only got to watch Domestic at the weekend…I know I know anyway…here's my little take on some of the loose ends of Death Shall have no Dominion. It has Harry in a pretty dark place, but that seems to fit the season so far as I've seen it, (has he cracked a joke yet? Did I blink and miss it?) The Director/producer whoever also seemed to have a thing for 'balconies' in these episodes, I'm sure it's supposed to be significant being on the edge etc. so I've kind of tried to carry on the theme… It comes in 4 bits, it's as close as I get to a oneshot… Let me know, as always I adore your feedback.**

**All Characters belong to the BBC**

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What Are Friends For?

Harry leaned over his breakfast bar and stared down at his mobile on the table; he really should call her. The case was over and he knew exactly how she would be feeling; that sense of relief coupled with that sense of emptiness. The sense of loss; strong enough to take your breath away and destroy your defences. He knew she would feel it, because he felt it too.

She would need him.

He should phone her.

But Harry did not pick up his phone, he too was exhausted and this was no excuse he realised. But he needed time.

'Why had he done it?' he wondered to himself; why had he gone to the hospital with Connie? It wasn't as if they weren't busy. Did he want to keep out of Leo's way that much?

He had had a moment of panic as he sat down; that this had been a really bad idea and that it would only open all the old wounds, and he had been surprised when it hadn't. Actually he had felt nothing more towards that little bundle of cells with half of his DNA dividing and multiplying for eight short weeks. Connie's baby was real; it was there, head, legs, arms and that visible whooshing heartbeat in the fuzzy black and white picture.

It was Connie's determination that had shocked him, knocked him completely off balance, not thinking about Anna and what might have been. Connie had teased him and he had pretended to be 'cool' but he knew he wasn't. It wasn't a one parent family that bothered him; there were plenty of success stories on that front. He had been shocked by her audacity and her total emasculation of the father's role and her trivialization of everything male.

He had been shocked.

Shocked to his core.

How could a selfless act like becoming a mother suddenly become so selfish?

He hadn't known what to say to her after that, and so reverted to his default mode of trying to crack jokes. He was glad the case had ended and their paths would be unlikely to cross again.

He had come to realise a while back that there was a pattern in his relationships with women. There were those he wanted to help, to protect, the ones he could save just like a Prince Charming riding up on a white horse. There had been plenty of those; Rebecca, Marina, his mother to a certain extent, although it was only recently he realised how much he had failed. No, try as he might, the Prince Charming role never ever lead to a happy ever after for him and it really wasn't worth all the heartache it caused.

And what about Connie today, is that what he had set out to do, help her? Save her? She made it clear she didn't need saving. She didn't need anyone's help except of course the sperm from Mr High IQ and Good Cheekbones.

Then there were the other women, his other pattern; what was the polar opposite of Prince Charming he wondered? The big bad wolf? That's what he was with them. The string of girls he had devoured, shagged and shoved out the door as quickly as possible. That certainly didn't lead anywhere and he had grown weary a long time back of that game.

This left him with a dilemma. What was the point? DI James was one of the nicest women he'd come across in a long time. If Connie could just take what she wanted, when she wanted without a care for anything male then what was the whole relationship charade actually about?

He thumped his fist down on his table, surprising himself by the sudden force of his temper.

How had he done it? Why? What could have possessed that man to give up his child like that? He paced up and down in his flat. Who could do that? And what kind of a friendship was it that could ask for that? What are friends for?

As he paced the one friend he did have came to his mind; his one exception to his rules about women. She had never fitted either of his categories; he didn't have a category for what she was. She was Nikki; she was a category all to herself.

He should have made a move on her earlier and then they would never be dangling on this ledge now. He had had his chances too, but he had been too self-obsessed to even notice. She'd even handed it to him on a plate that time he had asked her out, all those years ago.

He could remember it perfectly, he was leant over the rails in the stairwell and she ran after him, her eyes wide, her voice breathless, eager.

"My car or yours?" she had said. She might just as well have asked 'my place or yours?' and he had really blown it that time. Stuck in some story from long ago, desperately trying to fulfil his role of saviour to a lost princess one last time. He really had to sort his priorities out. He always let the dead take precedence over the living.

That was his continual mistake.

And now she was out there, alive and needing him. He knew; he just knew she would be stuck somewhere crying her eyes out and wanting him to comfort her. And he wouldn't even pick up the phone, because it just wasn't enough. That couldn't be all he was good for; 'fairly good in a crisis,' it had the ring of an epitaph about it and it certainly wasn't the one he wanted.

He really should call her.

He spun round again; maybe he did try the Prince Charming act with her. He thought of all the times he had come to her rescue; the feel of her buried in his chest, or just taking his hand at times that had made everything seem worthwhile. The knowledge that she was safe, she was still there, they were still together. But what happened the next day, and the day after that? What about all those days when it was his fault, the days he let her down, the days he didn't call when he should have. The days she was left on her own with her pain, pain that he had probably caused or at the very least exacerbated. No he wasn't Prince Charming and even if he was he didn't know how to get beyond the saving to the happy ever after end. He had a grave suspicion that happy ever after did not exist. Certainly not for him, and not for her either. She seemed to have an even worse track record than he did.

He was so angry with her. He flew round again and stomped towards his kitchen, his temper rising all the while. All that stuff about death having no dominion. It was all crap; even the critics couldn't decide if Thomas meant there was an afterlife or not; or if it were some cruel joke on Christian belief and a vaguely twisted misquote from the New Testament. Why had she chosen to read that poem?

In his experience death meant death and it had scarred his life from the time he was 11 years old, it might not be a dominion but it had a damning legacy. And she had had her father, he was alcoholic, dishonest and disagreeable but she had had a father and he hadn't. He would have traded anything to have his father back. He would have made an effort to be reconciled to him despite his faults if he were in her position. How could she just ignore him like that? How could she disregard that input into her life? He hoped she missed him now he really was gone.

Harry stopped pacing for a moment. That's not really what he thought; he didn't want to inflict that pain on her, did he? Now he was being selfish and childish.

He should ring her.

Check she was ok.

Go over.

He peered down at his phone again.

He could still hear the blood rushing through his ears.

He reached down and picked it up.

He shouldn't talk to her when he was this worked up.

It wouldn't end well.

He threw the phone back down on the table with a clatter.

But that was when he heard it.

The knock on his door.

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**"Your car or mine," from Body of Work (which I also only watched all the way through recently...so sue me!)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for reading and reviewing…did you really think it might not be Nikki?**

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"Nikki?" he called through the door, as he found the key to open it.

"Do you mind?" she asked holding up an off licence bag; the jangling indicating at least two bottles. Her smile was just slightly too wide, and her eyes nearer to hysterical than happy but she was obviously trying hard to keep herself together.

"I mean if you're busy, I can go…"

"No, it's fine," he hesitated. "I was just about to call you. Come in." He stood back from the door and allowed her to enter. She shrugged off her rain soaked coat and hung it over the back of the door.

He could see her moving carefully and deliberately, taking glasses down from his cupboard and looking for the corkscrew. He saw her going through the motions, concentrating intently filling her mind with the task in hand rather than let it wander on paths of its own. He knew exactly what she was doing. It was what he always did. Sometimes it shocked him how similar they were; had they always been like it or had it evolved over the time they had known each other?

"You did well finding out about those swabs," she said to break the silence.

"Hmm," he replied, not entirely trusting his voice after his earlier agitation.

"Harry? Are you alright?" she asked.

"You came here, you remember? I thought you were the one that wanted something?" he replied.

"Me?" she said startled. "I need a reason now?"

Harry didn't reply and they stood looking at each other uncertainly for a while.

"Nikki, why did you come over?" he asked more harshly than he intended.

"I… I…" she began, the tears that had fallen earlier prickling her eyes again.

Harry stood resolutely still glaring at her. Willing her to say what he wanted to hear. That she had needed him.

"I thought you'd call," she said quietly.

"And why was that?" he suddenly exploded, "because my shoulder happens to be a good fit? Because I can put up with another sob story? Why? Nikki why?"

Nikki's tears flowed freely down her face as she backed away from Harry, so unexpected had been his reaction.

"What's happened to you Harry? I came here because we're friends. Because I was alone. Because I was upset."

"What are friends for?" he growled to himself and then louder, "And you thought I could make it better?" he sneered. "I'm done with always making things better, because it doesn't matter how much better I make them, something worse always comes along and it never gets better and I'm sick of it, sick of it!"

"Harry?" she asked surprised at how dark his mood was and why his demons had taken this evening of all evenings to plague him? Something must have happened.

"Sorry," he muttered but unapologetically.

"Did something happen?" she said, taking a deep breath and picking up her drink and making her way to the sofa. She really didn't want to hear Harry go off on one of his rants but the alternative was even less favourable. She'd already tried that this evening. At least here, she had company and it wasn't as if she was sitting in her flat with all the lights off, totally and utterly alone. Hearing Harry shout at her would make her feel better in a perverse way, she would take it as the punishment she deserved for her despicable treatment of her father. She settled herself into the sofa.

"Maybe you were right?" he admitted after he could bear her silence no more.

"Hunh?"

"Maybe we shouldn't do this job forever."

Nikki laughed then, "Oh Harry you don't mean that, the whole way you work, the way your brain solves the problems; how it sees solutions when no one else can. Harry you were born to do this. No one else is as good at it as you are. Harry really, what's happened please tell me?"

"Nikki, I don't have to tell you everything, I'm not working to you now. I've just had it. There's been too much death this week, even for me and so much of it I can't understand," he said his eyes flashing and his voice tinged with the anger he had felt earlier.

"Harry you can't understand a psychopath, that is exactly what makes them a psychopath," Nikki scolded.

"But I'm just so angry!"

"Angry at who? You solved the case Harry. Lee Ness committed that triple homicide."

"It's not him."

"Then who?"

"You want a list?"

"If it helps..." she suggested

"I don't know who." he shrugged and turned his back on her.

Nikki waited.

"Liar," she added quietly, knowing he could never turn down a challenge.

He caught her eye just briefly before he turned around and the tirade began

"I'm angry at Leo, at psychopaths, at Chesham labs," he spun back round to face her, "at Lizzie Fraser, at Simon Avery, DI James and at police officers and people who don't do their jobs properly and God…

"You don't even believe in God," she scoffed.

"AND GOD AND YOU!" he finished at full volume.

Nikki was staggered. They had hardly even seen each other the last few days. She hadn't knowingly annoyed him. She hadn't made any comments about all the attention he was paying DI James, what could she have done to deserve his wrath?

"Harry I don't understand. Tell me what happened. Please?"

"Why?" he left a viscous pause. "Because you can make it better?"

"No," she said quietly. "But I can listen."

He thought back into the past again, another time when he was surprised by her intense look; "you're being liked," had been her answer then. He almost choked on his breath as he thought about his behaviour this evening. What was he doing? She needed him; she was grieving; she didn't need this.

But then his thoughts raced back to the present and the turmoil of the day; she did listen; she was good at listening; he'd just screamed that he was angry at her and she was still sat on his sofa sipping her drink, looking as if this was just a normal day in the office. How could this woman fit into any category? What was he going to do?


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry, I only intended this to be a short little thing, written in the car whilst waiting to pick up my son from a party, but it has grown and evolved. I obviously like angry Harry way too much and lucky for me, so do lots of you. Don't worry your secret's safe with me. Be lovely to hear your views though.**

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"Where on the list do you want to start?" Nikki asked helpfully. "Start with the others and work up to me, or just plough in to me from the beginning? And how does God even get to feature on your little list? What's he done to you this week?"

Harry was startled from his reverie about what a good listener she was, by this diatribe and the mocking tone of her voice.

"I just don't understand…" Harry began.

"Try me!" she said defiantly.

He stared at her silently for a while, wondering if she really meant it, it she really did want to hear his long list, if he should take the plunge and let rip, and where to start? Did she really need to know how annoyed he was at Leo's behaviour? She'd been there and seen it, she would have realised how cross he had been not to mention the appalling behaviour of the others.

But if he did start with her there was a chance she would leave, walk out, slam the door and then he would be left to wallow in his own emotional mire without her nagging; it suddenly seemed like a good option. To make her go; that would be the best solution. That's what he would do; make her go. Just for a second he had a mental image of that fairy tale wolf he'd imagined himself to be earlier, 'I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down,' he thought. And while he was at it he would clear out all the humiliation, rejection and stupidity he'd had to deal with all week.

"Your poem," he began setting to work at destroying her very foundations. "The poem at your father's funeral; why did you choose that one?" He sat down next to her, in an attempt to make her drop her guard.

"It seemed… it seemed…" she broke off.

"Wouldn't the one about rage have been more appropriate?" he asked.

She looked quizzically at him, he'd only been left with the book for five minutes when she went to go and buy the coffees.

"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light." He quoted.

"It's not really very apt for a funeral is it? It's a bit late by the time you've got to that point!

"But do you really think there is something more? That death has no dominion? With all your scientific knowledge and training, how can you still believe?" he asked.

"Harry…That poem, it's just about living on in someone's memory. My dad wasn't religious, what was I supposed to read? I'm not sure I always do believe, I just don't know, but isn't there something in you that dreams of some kind of immortality?"

"Not often," he said darkly. "I've not even done forty years yet and I've seen quite enough already."

"You don't believe that," she said.

"But to believe don't you need more than some story about a resurrection. Don't you need to know the how, the facts, the science?"

"But then you wouldn't need faith," she explained.

"But why does the whole story have to be so ridiculous? Relying on an eye witness who's colourful past calls into question the veracity of her testimony."

Harry stood up; towering over her; her simplistic belief suddenly enraging him and the full power of his earlier anger gripping him tightly. All that had held him in check evaporated under the heat of his own rage and he gave himself over to the cacophony of words that began spewing uncontrollably out of his mouth. "The hero of this story, getting executed in an atrocious manner, in a tomb; dead for three days, his devoted friends coming to the memorial garden, just so they can see his body. Dead means dead! The disciples weren't scientists and they knew that; they weren't even expecting a miracle, just to see his DEAD body."

"Harry," Nikki cried, all her earlier bravado beginning to melt. They had suddenly strayed onto dangerous ground. "No more Harry, that's enough," she said quietly. The picture he was conjuring was far too raw for her and not just any old story, not even a Bible story."

"A woman," Harry continued regardless, oblivious to the obvious but relishing Nikki's discomfort, enjoying seeing the pain he had felt all week projected onto someone else. " A woman, so devoted she struggles to the tomb by herself with no thought for propriety or her personal safety and when she finds the place empty turns to sit…she's confused… the sun shines brightly despite her heartbreak and obscures her vision. But then she sees something, a movement amongst the stones. She can't believe what she sees, so she turns away, she talks to a man she thinks is the gardener and at the sound of her name, she believes. This story, THIS story is supposed to be true and real and make all the pain of death go away? I just don't buy it."

"Stop it," Nikki wailed.

"When you're dead, you stay dead and that's it, you of all people should know that!" he thundered cruelly.

"Stop it," she repeated.

"What?"

Nikki scrubbed tears away from her cheeks and stared at him blankly.

"What?" he repeated thinking back to all that he had said; he wasn't expecting her to be so sensitive about a religion she hardly believed in.

"But it was real!" she looked up at him intently with her tear stained face and saw his total lack of comprehension.

"For me! Once. It was real; it was so very very real." she whispered and her voice hitched and he heard that familiar howl of pain and he remembered and he realised exactly what he'd done; what story he'd actually told. He staggered away from her, grabbing hold of furniture just to steady himself. His body began to shake and he felt lightheaded just as if he had really vomited up his dinner and not his last words. They never talked about Hungary, it was such a taboo subject between them, he had buried those memories so deep and had almost forgotten how much she had been hurt by it all. How terribly it had affected her; but not anymore. What had he done?

"You bastard," she called after him, but still she didn't move.

"Nikki?" he said gently, he was still shaking, stunned at how callous he had been, how cutting, just how far he had pushed her.

"Why are you trying to hurt me?" she asked through her tears.

Harry started pacing again.

"It's the only thing I'm actually good at," he shot back morosely.

"That's not true," she replied but he laughed it off dismissively.

He continued to pace while she regained her composure.

"I'm sor…" he began.

"Don't," she interrupted and they relapsed into an uneasy silence. She still showed no sign of leaving. How could his plan have backfired so disastrously? What had he done? She was his friend.

"You never answered my question properly the other day," Harry began when his breathing finally slowed again.

"What one was that?"

"The one about how things were with your father. You were ok weren't you?"

"What? Is that going to make you feel better?" she said in exasperation. "Is that what this is about? My relationship with my dad? Is that why you're punishing me?"

"I'm not punishing you," Harry claimed.

Nikki just raised an eyebrow back at him. "You could have fooled me," she muttered.

"Would it be better for you if for the last two years my father never asked me for money, he was never in trouble with the police, he was the poster boy for sobriety and he cheered my every success? Would it be better that way? I'm the one who is supposed to be grieving Harry. Why are you being so bloody selfish?"

"'Cause I'm good at that too," he joked. The timing of this sudden bout of humour failing him completely.

"Well for your information he wasn't Harry. Does that make it better? Does it make YOU feel better? He was still a mess and we may have talked from time to time but not much and it wasn't ok." She paused for breath, wondering whether to continue, whether to let out how she really felt? Harry had obviously not been holding back this evening, but if they both stepped off the edge? What then? She continued more quietly,

"And now he's gone and much of me is relieved, relieved that I don't have to feel guilty about not talking to him anymore and not worrying that when he does call he's not just trying to rip me off yet again." She paused briefly, "but the rest of me is now screaming that I am totally and utterly alone in this world. You don't understand how that feels Harry, and it scares me and I hate it; I really really hate it."

"I understand," he whispered to himself but he didn't trust himself to catch her eye.

"You're not alone," Harry murmured.

Nikki chose to ignore this comment or perhaps didn't even hear it.

"So that's me and God taken care of," she blustered; regaining control of her tears and trembling hands, hoping to change the subject from the raw nerve of pain they had uncovered. "Who else has pissed you off this week? Are you carrying on through your list? I thought you and DI James were getting on well?"

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'Do not go gentle into the good night,' Dylan Thomas

'Death has no dominion,' Dylan Thomas

Harry's recollections; slightly twisted but hopefully you'll forgive me, I'm sure his memory would be slightly sketchy. John 10 v 11-18

11 Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb 12 and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus' body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot. 13 They asked her, "Woman, why are you crying?" "They have taken my Lord away," she said, "and I don't know where they have put him." 14 At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. 15 He asked her, "Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?" Thinking he was the gardener, she said, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him." 16 Jesus said to her, "Mary." She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, "Rabboni!" (which means "Teacher"). 17 Jesus said, "Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" 18 Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: "I have seen the Lord!" And she told them that he had said these things to her.

No sacrilege intended, I happen to believe this story does give hope for the resurrection and I wrote this on Easter Monday so it was all fresh in my mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay so I lied, this has now gone to 5 parts, I seriously thought about splitting the last chapter but changed my mind, but now this one really has got too long, but no more religion I promise. Thanks to tigpop and Lizziginne for their reviews of the last chapter. And to Charlotte88, pinkswallowsun, EmmaJ1996 and Audrey1119 previously, feedback is so vital and does make it all worthwhile. Come on the rest of you, or is the shouting getting too much?**

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Harry hissed through his teeth, it made Nikki's skin crawl; she detested it when he made that noise. She had thought they had got to the bottom of Harry's rage, but there was evidently more to come.

"I went to the hospital with DI James." Harry admitted more calmly than he had been for a while.

"Was she taken ill?" Nikki asked, quick to jump to conclusions. He and DI James had spent a lot of time together and she had recognised the looks Harry had given her.

"No, it was a routine scan, 28 weeks,"

"She invited you to her ultrasound appointment?" Nikki asked nonplussed.

"No I invited myself."

"Harry?"

Harry shrugged. Looking back it had been an odd thing to do.

"What about her partner?"

"She doesn't have one." Harry answered.

"Oh," Nikki replied nodding her head. Now she was confused. She really had recognised the looks between them, but Connie was …

"No she's not gay," Harry said watching Nikki's face as she tried to work out the solution. "She said she couldn't wait for Mr Right and so she got a friend to … she's done this by herself."

"Blimey, she's brave," said Nikki.

"Brave!" Harry scoffed. "She's as much of a psychopath as Lee Ness!"

"What on earth do you mean?" Nikki asked.

"Don't you see?"

"Harry you cannot make a comparison between a woman choosing to have a baby and a psychopathic killer! There is no common ground. I thought you liked her; I thought she was nice."

"So did I," Harry muttered to himself and then to Nikki said, "She has destroyed any chance her son has of ever knowing his father, removed any trace of his influence, annihilated him just as surely as Ness tied the bag over that other boy's head, set fire to his mother and hacked his grandfather to pieces.

"Aah," said Nikki meaningfully.

"Aah?" Harry retaliated, annoyed by her knowing look.

"This is what is actually bothering you isn't it?" Nikki began. Everything was dropping into place; her mind quickly connecting all the pieces: his sensitivity to her father's funeral, his outrage at Leo's dominating behaviour and now Connie's position. "The male species doesn't come out very well this week do they? One is overbearing and controlling to the point of stifling, one cold bloodedly kills a family for fun, one becomes consumed with work to such an extent that he misses his own wife's death, one deliberately misleads the police for years and one gives away his right's to his child. Which of them is the worst? Are they all the one's left on your little list? Are they?"

Harry was slumped across his kitchen counter, his head in his hands.

Nikki began to pace now just as Harry had earlier. She hadn't forgotten all he had just said, his insensitivity, the need to goad her to a reaction. She hadn't deserved them and it had felt like he had torn her heart out but in some way the pain felt good. It was a relief to know that she could still cry, be shocked, be reduced to tears by another's suffering. And hadn't they had done this so many times before? Confronted some demon together; it was as plain to see to the other as if it had a big red target drawn around it. There was always shouting but they always got through it in the end, the other's help as painful as a surgeon's knife but the problem was always excised. And now it was her turn to wield the scalpel.

Harry hadn't moved, hadn't tried to say anything more, what more could he say? But she knew what to say. She knew now exactly what was bothering him.

"You were wondering," Nikki began, her voice taunting just like Harry's had earlier when he'd mentioned Hungary. "What you would do if I ever asked you?"

There was beat more of silence before Harry answered.

"Was not," he mumbled into his hands.

"Oh yes you were," she said as she stood across the counter in front of him.

"I wasn't!."

"You were. You have been consumed by what kind of a friend you would have to be to donate your sperm just so the friend could have the child they wished for and without a further thought for you. Do we have that kind of friendship Harry? Do we? If I asked you seriously, what would you say?"

Harry raised his head, anger flashing in his eyes again.

"What would you say?" she repeated leaning in towards him, relishing her chance now to inflict the pain and not just receive it.

"What?"

Harry dropped his eyes back to the counter in a vain attempt to ignore her but she was so close he could feel her breath on his skin and feel the warmth of her face just inches from his own.

"If I asked you to donate your sperm so that I could have a child, what would you say?" she badgered.

"I would say no, you know I would say no," he said darkly. He met her gaze briefly before continuing.

"You wouldn't even dare ask," he insisted.

Nikki opened her mouth but she didn't get a chance to speak. Harry had rediscovered his words after his temporary silence.

"You wouldn't dare ask and I don't see how any real friend could ask that. That is not what friends are for. Denying that baby boy his father, his family, his grandparents; everyone the chance to raise him and to watch him grow up. I know what it's like to grow up without a father and I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"You just don't think I'm good enough for you," Nikki countered and began to pace again stung by his apparent rejection.

"What?" spluttered Harry.

"You don't think I'm good enough," she repeated angrily, the colour rising in her cheeks.

Harry marched out from behind the counter and caught Nikki by the arm as she paced past him, swinging her round to face him.

"That's not it," he thundered.

"Yes it is," she retorted her eyes flashing, their faces level.

"It's not"

"I'm not good enough for you,"

"Stop it," he cried just as she had earlier in the middle of his thoughtless outburst.

"Why?" she demanded

"Because there is no one in the world I would want more than you to be the mother of my children!" the word's exploded out of his mouth unchecked.

Nikki blinked twice and stared not quite believing what she had heard.

Harry realised then what he'd said too. He dropped her arm and stepped back but there was no taking it back. They were rare these moments of blatant honesty between them, but they both knew when they had happened and this was one of them, neither would be able to deny it. Harry knew it just as surely as he had known earlier that she was out there crying somewhere and needed him.

They continued to stare, Nikki's breath coming in short bursts, Harry's eyes wide and trapped. He was really on the edge now. He could say he didn't mean it. But that wouldn't be true and she would know him to be a liar.


	5. Chapter 5

**Phew watched 'Fear' in real time for once…and I was worried about subjecting you to a half a page of religion! Thanks again for all your lovely comments…I hope you like the end, but then I have to say the old brain has started whirring…a sequel maybe?**

**For Tigpop, for her continual encouragement and to wish her every success in her last exam and for her indirect inspiration of the last paragraph.**

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"Nikki…" he began and then faltered.

"Why are we fighting?" Nikki asked carefully.

"Are we fighting?" Harry asked gently, his anger finally subsiding.

"Harry?"

"I think we might have stopped…fighting that is," Harry shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair and across his chin.

"It's true," he mumbled; shocking himself at the realisation, catching her gaze and then quickly looking down.

"It's ok, Harry." Nikki began. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I didn't mean to make you…"

"No, Nikki. It's my fault I'm sorry, all that stuff I said earlier, I mean much earlier… I'm really sorry." He didn't want her to think he was sorry about the last bit. Now it had been said out loud he began to appreciate how true it actually was.

"DI James made you feel redundant, useless, impotent," she explained.

"Thanks," he muttered to the floor.

"You couldn't understand how she could want a baby so much that she was prepared to forego all formal conventions and a father when all you ever wanted was your father back. I understand, I do."

Harry continued to study his floor, it was really time he gave it a clean; Nikki continued the gentle edge to her voice finally returning.

"Harry, you're not useless," she put a hand to his cheek and tried to raise his eyes to hers. The stubble on his chin felt rough under her hands. "I need you, Harry. I came here tonight because you are my friend and I needed you." She looked to see how these confessions were going down. They had been closer to that edge this evening than they had ever been before. Hovered on the very precipice, all she had to was to take one more step. One step; how difficult was one step? In the past one of them had always backed down. But it wasn't going to be her; not tonight; not after the month she had had, not after what she had just heard.

"Harry you're the only family I have left," she reached out to grasp his hand.

Finally Harry looked up and met her gaze but struggled to find any words to say. Her voice began to shake again, anxious that he would misunderstand her. That he would withdraw his offer to be there for her.

"I'm sorry I didn't get on better with my Dad, but not many people did. You saw the turnout at the service." Nikki confessed. "If it weren't for you, me and the vicar we wouldn't even have made double figures. I'm sorry you still miss your dad. I didn't think I would miss mine. I really didn't. I've hardly seen him in the last few years…hardly seen him at all…so why does it still hurt?" The tears flowed unchecked down her face for what seemed like the millionth time that evening. "Why do I miss him? I spent years hating him Harry. But now it hurts so much… I miss him Harry… he was a real piece of work and I hated him, I did, so why do I miss him so much?"

"Because you did love him," Harry replied.

"But I never showed him," she sobbed.

"I know," soothed Harry and pulled her against his chest and let her cry as he held her tight.

"And now it's too late!"

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

"But it's better than numb eh?" he added some time later.

She gave him a half smile in return.

"It all comes out in the end," she said quietly remembering what Byrne had said.

"See, that's better already," he smiled.

Who was he trying to be? He didn't know. He wasn't sure where Nikki fitted in his life, all that had been said this evening hadn't really changed anything. It had clarified a few of his own thoughts from vague notions to solid fact. He only knew that she had to be there somewhere. They were inextricably connected. She was as much a part of his family as he was hers. Wasn't that what family was about anyway some connectedness? Family members could go years without seeing each other but then on meeting again, slip back into comfort and familiarity that only shared consciousness and love could ever achieve. That had hardly been his experience of family, and it certainly wasn't hers; but to have no one left; he couldn't imagine how she must feel to have no one left; no one but him. He could be that for her couldn't he? Her connection? A place of shared consciousness?

He tugged her down onto the sofa to sit next to him.

"This is proving to be some wake," he said.

"Wake?"

"You're not telling me two cups of store bought coffee and a phone call constitutes a proper wake?" he answered.

"But I wasn't planning on having one," Nikki began.

"Well there could be an alternative activity for tonight in the light of certain… err… revelations?" he raised his eyebrows and nodded his head in the direction of the bedroom, his goofiest grin on his face to prove he wasn't serious.

He was rewarded with a low chuckle. The kind that started deep within her before bubbling up in happier circumstances to a full blown laugh.

"So this is a wake?" she said.

"Absolutely," he agreed. "We've had tears, we've had a big family bust up, all we need are the refreshments, some stories and someone getting drunk in the corner and we'll have done everything properly." He smiled, hoping that his timing for this bout of humour was better than his attempt earlier in the evening.

"Do all wakes involve family fighting?" she asked.

"Only the best ones," he answered.

"You mean only the one's you've been to."

"True," he nodded.

"Does that say more about you than the nature of wakes?"

Harry grinned in return, pleased they had returned to light hearted banter, but then noticed Nikki's face suddenly fall again.

"You don't want to hear stories about my dad," she said sadly. "And anyway you know most of them."

"No I don't," Harry admitted.

She looked up at him, surprised by his last answer.

But before she could begin the list of Victor's misdemeanours Harry spoke again.

"I don't want to know those stories. This is a wake remember. Tell me about the happy times," he said. "Before it all went wrong, tell me about the days with the smiles. Tell me about the things you did when you were a little girl. The stories he read to you, the games you played, the fun days out. Tell me about your dad."

"Really?" she asked as her eyes misted with tears.

"Really," he replied and squeezed her hand.

She looked hesitant, unsure still.

"I've got biscuits," Harry offered.

"Well then," she smiled again as if that had sealed the deal.

Most of the ugliness that had clouded the atmosphere earlier had dissolved leaving them in a new place; parts were unfamiliar and it made them nervous but it was a place of honesty and a place where they were together. Harry looked back across at her as he opened the cupboard; she was sitting on the sofa looking apprehensive. 'How messed up were they?' he thought to himself as he watched her sitting there. After all that had happened this evening it was the first time it actually looked like she might leave. He reached in to get the biscuits glad of his open plan flat, if he had been out of sight in a kitchen he had absolutely no doubt that she would have taken the opportunity to make a quiet exit. He looked over to the door and saw her saw her coat hanging on the back of it, her exit strategy planned from the very moment she had arrived.

He met her eyes and smiled, she knew, he knew she had thought about leaving. All that shouting, and she had only wanted to go when he started being kind and compassionate to her, wasn't that what she had come for in the first place? She had come because she was alone, and she wanted to be with him. And now they were together, more together than they had ever been and now she was scared. 'They were really messed up,' she thought.

Harry wondered as he walked towards her which she found more frightening the honesty or the compassion. He knew what his answer was.

"Biscuits," he said as he sat down.

"They're my favourite kind," she admitted.

"Of course they are," he replied. "That's why I bought them! They're hardly man biscuits are they?"

She looked up at him then a new confidence in her face. A certainty that there was someone, somewhere in this lonely world she could go, somewhere where her likes and dislikes were known. Somewhere she could feel at home, be accepted for who she was, she hesitated and then dared to think it; to be loved.

"We should have a toast," Harry declared as he refilled the long abandoned glasses.

"Hmm," Nikki agreed. "To what?"

They thought for a while, there was no point toasting just Victor, the evening had become something bigger than just one single man.

"Absent fathers?" suggested Nikki.

"No," Harry almost shuddered and thought for a while more.

"Family," he said and smiled at her.

They clinked glasses together and raised them ceremonially heavenward.

"To family," they repeated.

"Now have a biscuit and tell me about your dad," Harry said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her towards his chest.

She lay back against him, glad of his warmth and the reassurance of his steady heartbeat. She closed her eyes, she felt the hot African sun beat down on her skin, heard the sound of her father's voice and her own laughter as she wobbled and wriggled high up on his shoulders. No tears came with the memory this time, just the steady thump of Harry's heart against her back, and the feel of his arm protectively around her; she took a deep breath, sensing the unmistakable scent of Africa mingled with Harry's deodorant. Then she began; daring to leave the safety of her all consuming self-sufficiency and take another step forward; she began to tell Harry the stories, the real stories, the ones he wanted to hear, the ones she finally wanted to tell.

* * *

**Hope you liked it, your views are always appreciated.**

**Good luck to all those doing exams.**

**D**


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